


tired of waiting for tomorrow to come

by yeswayappianway



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Bruce Springsteen References, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Past Character Death, just to be safe idk it's jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeswayappianway/pseuds/yeswayappianway
Summary: Jason’s always had a thing about Bruce Springsteen.When he was a kid, all he knew was that it was one of only a few cassettes his mom had. Now that he’s an adult, he has a lot more feelings on the subject. Jason tries not to tell people that he likes Bruce Springsteen, because he already gets plenty of assumptions about being a red-blooded all-American man or whatever. He thinks if he’d been a regular kid, listening to Springsteen might have gotten him through high school. As it is now, he keeps the music close to his chest, other than occasionally bothering Babs for CDs. It feels good to have something that’s his own, something he remembers from before the manor and something that still makes him feel like the same person who used to listen to a scratchy cassette yelling out, “You can’t start a fire without a spark.”
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49
Collections: Lower Your Damn Standards: week 4: off-brand/id-work





	tired of waiting for tomorrow to come

**Author's Note:**

> this is an excuse for me to yell about bruce springsteen and jason todd for *checks notes* 6.5k. did i check it for errors? nope! is there a plot? i mean, only loosely! is it tonally inconsistent? sure is! and _that's_ why it's going in lower your damn standards, because i've been really really wanting to write this for ages but i'm still not sure anyone else will care about this.
> 
> this is set in a weird canon mashup, since i decided to have duke and cass on the outsiders, but also steph is still batgirl. it's fine. comics are fake, canon is fake, time is fake, anything goes.
> 
> much love to remi for reading half of this a few weeks ago and telling me that eyes emojis express all possible human emotion ~~< 3~~[eyes emoji]
> 
> title from Better Days by (obviously) Bruce Springsteen

“Babs.”

She ignores it.

“Babs.”

Barbara flicks a glance at the screen monitoring everyone’s location. Jason’s dot is slowly, calmly moving down his usual patrol route. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. She goes back to her other work.

“ _Babs_.”

“What,” she snaps. She’s never the most patient person (although maybe she is in this family, but that’s more a reflection on everyone else than her) and tonight is testing her more than usual.

Jason’s voice is painfully serious when he says, “Was anyone going to tell me there’s a whole new Springsteen album, Babs, or was I just supposed to read it for it myself?”

She lets her head thunk down on her desk, making sure not to let the headset mic hit the tabletop. “First of all,” she mumbles, her head firmly smushed against the wood, “who’s teaching you about shitty internet jokes?”

“Tim keeps sending me memes because he knows there’s less chance of him saying something that makes me want to punch him,” Jason admits.

Barbara rolls her eyes. Tim would. “Second of all, Jason. Jay. The artist formerly known as Robin. Why in the world would that be important enough to justify annoying me while you and everyone else are on patrol, and while I’m also working on writing a script to sort through police files for cold cases that might be relevant to Scarecrow?”

Somehow, she can almost see the disappointed look on his face. “The Boss is always important, O.”

Resisting the urge to scream, she sighs heavily, and after a quick check, says, “It’s at the Bowery branch. You can pick it up next time you go in.”

There’s silence for a minute, and then, “Can you put it on hold for me?”

Barbara does groan now, scrubbing her hands down her face. “For the love of—Jason, you live _one block_ from there, I haven’t worked at the library in years, please, for god’s sake, put your own holds on things! And let me _do my job_!”

It works to shut him up, and the rest of the night passes fairly uneventfully for them.

Jason texts her a string of smiley faces and guitars the next morning, presumably when he finds the email from the library telling him his hold came in.

\-----

Jason’s always had a thing about Bruce Springsteen.

When he was a kid, all he knew was that it was one of only a few cassettes his mom had. It wasn’t her favorite or anything, but sometimes she would put on a tape while she was up and doing things around the house—making dinner or folding clothes, Jason getting underfoot as she tried to put him to work. He doesn’t know when he first heard Born in the USA, but Jason remembers that it was his favorite, and if his mom ever asked him what to play, he would pick that one.

Now that he’s an adult, he has a lot more feelings on the subject. Jason tries not to tell people that he likes Bruce Springsteen, because he already gets plenty of assumptions about being a red-blooded all-American man or whatever. He also tries not to think about how many Springsteen songs are about his complicated relationship with his dad, or the way Jason flinches when someone references Springsteen as “Bruce” in conversation if it does come up.

Jason thinks if he’d been a regular kid, listening to Springsteen might have gotten him through high school. As it is now, he keeps the music close to his chest, other than occasionally bothering Babs for CDs. It feels good to have something that’s his own, something he remembers from before the manor and something that still makes him feel like the same person who used to listen to a scratchy cassette yelling out, “You can’t start a fire without a spark.”

Maybe he spends too long letting his thoughts race as the music washes over him. It’s not like he has much else to do until it’s dark.

\-----

Bruce is about to snap a warning at whoever is humming over the comms, but something makes him pause. The pause gives him time to realize who it is—that’s _Jason_ humming. Bruce thinks he can count on one hand the number of times since Jason’s been back that he’s heard him on comms when he isn’t responding to someone else. He knows he hasn’t heard Jason hum since he was fifteen.

The humming sounds familiar, and Bruce can’t quite place it, but he doesn’t say anything, staying quiet as he scans the warehouse. He’s not even sure Jason realizes his comm is on. It hurts a little to know that Jason will stop the second he so much as hears a word from him.

The comm crackles again, someone else’s voice cutting in. Tim. “You do know you’re broadcasting, right, Hood?”

The humming stops. “I wasn’t, but I’m not apologizing.” It starts again, louder. Bruce resists the urge to smile and roll his eyes. Jason had always doubled down when called on something. It should probably be a lot less endearing now, but it always makes Bruce think of Jason as a kid, crossing his arms defiantly at Bruce or Alfred’s latest reprimand.

“Just making sure you knew,” Tim says, sounding amused. “What are you humming, anyway? If it’s going to be stuck in my head, I need to know what it is.”

Jason makes an outraged noise. “You don’t _know_?”

Bruce thinks there’s about a fifty/fifty chance that actually, Tim does know it, and just couldn’t figure it out. Jason has never had particularly musical talents.

Tim makes a noise that’s the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “Apparently not. Should I?”

“Should I, he says,” Jason mocks, but there’s no bite behind it. Bruce is nearly sure that Jason is enjoying this, actually, and hearing his sons bicker pleasantly is… nice. Even if it is deeply unprofessional. “Come on, Tim, I know you live in a computer cave, but if you try to tell me you don’t know who Bruce Springsteen is, I’ll eat my fucking helmet.”

“We live in New Jersey, of course I know who Bruce Springsteen is,” Tim shoots back.

Jason says, “Exactly why you should be able to recognize Born to Run! What kind of Jersey boy are you?”

Drily, Tim says, “The kind who isn’t secretly forty years old?”

“The Boss is timeless,” Jason sniffs. Bruce would find the put-upon haughtiness more endearing if he hadn’t been abruptly thrown back into an old memory.

Jason had been thirteen, and he’d officially been Robin for all of three weeks. They’d been about to head out on patrol, and Bruce had given some direction or other, he can’t remember now. Jason had thrown him a sloppy salute and said, “You got it, boss.”

Bruce had stiffened, something about the term grating on him. “Don’t call me that,” he’d said, and Jason had looked confused.

“Why not?”

Bruce hadn’t known, exactly, just that something about it felt wrong. “We’re— You’re not my employee.”

Jason’s furrowed eyebrows and wrinkled mouth had smoothed out. “No duh,” he’d said, with the solemnity only a thirteen-year-old could put on those words. “I just thought, you know, you’re the boss! Just like Bruce Springsteen.”

It hadn’t quite made the grating feeling go away, but Bruce had been amused enough to let it go. “I suppose, if it’s like Bruce Springsteen,” he’d said, and wondering how much Jason could read of the fondness in his expression and his voice through the cowl.

None of his other children ever called him boss. It isn’t a bad thing—Bruce had eventually realized that much of his discomfort with the title was because it suggested something far less familial than Bruce wanted, something more impersonal and more stark—but so many inconsequential things had taken on much larger meanings after Jason had died. And that’s why, despite all his rules about chatter on comms, Bruce has no intention of stopping this conversation, as Jason expounds at length on the merits of Born to Run to Tim, who seems exasperated but amused. Because at least now, Bruce can hear Jason again outside of his own memories.

\-----

Jason’s phone buzzes. He catches himself before he throws it across the room. This is his good phone and he doesn’t want to have to jump through the hoops of getting a new one encrypted if he can avoid it again.

Still though. “Fuck off,” he growls at it, and goes back to cleaning his guns. It had been a long night and he can still see—

No. He concentrates harder on the gun in front of him, the weight of the metal in his hand, the smell of the polish, the feel of the cloth against his skin. _Don’t think about anything else, don’t think about the phone, or who could be on it, if it could be Bruce, if tonight could have been the last straw, if—_

Jason’s phone buzzes again. He snarls and grabs for it. It’s two texts from Babs. The first is a link to what looks like a Youtube link, and the second says, “for when you need a good cry.” Jason snorts, swipes open the phone to bitterly stab out a return text.

_i was adopted by batman, remember? crying is for emotionally healthy people_

He does throw the phone this time, but at the couch, so at least it probably won’t break.

Jason forgets about the text for the next two weeks. When he finally remembers, he opens it up again. “for when you need a good cry,” it says, staring at him from his phone screen. He clicks [the link.](https://youtu.be/qNOPVJkBX04)

He was right, it is a Youtube link. It seems to be a Bruce Springsteen video, subtitled in Italian for whatever reason. Jason is a little surprised. Babs humors him with his Springsteen thing, but she’s not a fan herself, just knows a lot from her dad. Apparently Commissioner Gordon is a big fan, something Jason has always considered bringing up. He never has, because he can never decide if he wants it to be a joke or a point of connection between them.

Jason hits play. For the first minute or so, there’s just instrumentals and video of The Boss standing on a stage. It looks like it’s from the 80s, bandana and muscle shirt and all. 

Then, the video starts talking. _“When I was growing up, me and my dad used to go at it all the time, over almost anything.”_ Jason doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

He keeps listening. Jason listens to Springsteen talk about how he and his dad fought so much he’d spend time out of the house, even when it was winter and it was cold and miserable, and Jason thinks about nights spent in so many empty apartments in Gotham, no heat and shitty electricity.

_“What did I think I was doing to myself? And the worst part of it was, I could never explain it to him.”_

Jason keeps listening as he talks about his dad waiting for the army to get a hold of him and make a real man out of him, and Jason thinks about a memorial case labeled, “A good soldier,” even though Jason had never been anything remotely approaching that.

He doesn’t know when the tears start welling up, but Jason knows the exact moment it spills over into actual crying. When the man who’d claimed to want Springsteen to go off to the army finds out that the singer had failed his draft, _“And he said, that’s good.”_

The video keeps going and the opening notes of The River drift out, but Jason can’t concentrate. It’s all… it’s too much. He knows now why Babs sent it to him, and why she said it was good for a cry. Jason can almost hear Bruce saying it, _his_ Bruce—no apology, no admitting that he was wrong, nothing that obvious. But a whole lifetime of feelings trying to compress themselves into two words. ‘How did it go, Jason?’ ‘I didn’t die this time.’ ‘That’s good.’ Would it be enough? No. Is it something Jason wants desperately anyway? Of course, as much as it hurts to admit to himself.

 _thanks_ , he sends to Babs. She sends back a string of hearts. Jason stares at his phone. Is this enough of an epiphany to make him actually try? To put in the effort to call Bruce, even though he’s pretty sure odds are good he’ll only get a lecture, or worse, ignored?

Jason doesn’t know.

\-----

“Knock, knock,” Dick says cheerily, standing in the open doorway.

“Fuck off,” says Jason, but he doesn’t sound like he means it. Dick comes inside.

It’s been a long time since he’d been in Jason’s old room, although Dick would bet he’s been in here more recently than Jason has. He’s honestly not sure if Jason’s been in here since it actually _was_ his room. Right now, Jason is sitting cross-legged on the floor, and he seems to have emptied out all the drawers in his old desk in front of him, surrounding him in a small lake of papers and trinkets and worn down pencils.

Dick sits down on the bed and looks around the rest of the room. There’s a bookcase that Dick remembers used to be overflowing with mainly used paperbacks, but it seems a lot sparser now. Maybe Jason _has_ been in here after all. There are still posters on the walls, although not a lot. The desk seems to be the only surface that’d been cleaned off, although Dick knows the clothes in the closet and dresser have been cleaned and folded.

Jason seems to be sorting through the papers, mostly, pulling them out, looking at them, and stacking them into two different piles.

“Looking for something in particular?” Dick asks. What he really wants to know is why Jason is in here at all, but he’s well aware that asking that up front won’t get him anything.

Jason shakes his head absently. “Nah. Just seemed like I needed to do this eventually. I don’t wanna make more work for Alfred than he needs, and it’s—there’s no reason for this room to be like this.”

“Can I help?” Dick’s pretty sure the answer is no, but he feels weird just sitting here.

To his surprise, Jason gestures at the dresser. “You could go through the clothes, see if any of it’s worth saving or if I can just give it all away. Think Damian would lower himself to wear hand-me-downs? I bet I barely wore some of them.”

Dick shrugs. “Can’t hurt to ask. Is there any of it that you want to keep?”

Jason laughs. “I don’t exactly think it’ll fit me now.” Dick is momentarily distracted hearing Jason laugh. It’s been… a very long time since he’s heard that, unmuffled by a helmet or uncolored by anger and bitterness.

“Sure, but anything with sentimental value?” Jason gives him an unamused look. “Hey, I don’t know! I’m just covering all my bases.”

“Nah, you’re good. If it won’t fit someone else, just make a pile. I’ll get a box from Alfred or something.” Jason’s gone back to looking through the papers, and Dick considers trying to read over his shoulder, but he abandons that idea.

There’s almost no personality in the clothes in the dresser. Most everything is plain, solid colors. There are jeans and khakis, t-shirts and polo shirts. All very basic and pretty well-kept, which surprises Dick a little. He remembers his own clothes from his teenage years had constantly had holes and stains in them, and Alfred was great, but even he couldn’t remove a grass stain that covered one entire leg of Dick’s pants. Then again, maybe Jason had been more cautious with his gifted clothes. He also probably had been less prone to climbing trees and bookshelves.

Dick sets aside some of the pants. Damian prefers to wear sweaters and turtlenecks—Dick is eighty percent sure it’s to look like Bruce, which makes something sad twist in his heart—but the pants might be generic enough that Damian would, as Jason had said, lower himself to wear them. “Did you have anything fun to wear?” Dick finds himself asking. He winces a little, because it definitely sounds worse out loud.

“Some of us have taste, mullet-wing,” Jason says.

Rolling his eyes, Dick says, “First off, we’re not having this argument again. Second, no, I meant like… I don’t know, band t-shirts or something.”

Jason actually looks over at him now. “I… maybe?” he says, frowning. “I don’t really… remember. I never wanted to wear anything unique to school, didn’t wanna stick out more than I already did, but I feel like I would maybe have worn something like that in the summer.” There’s an expression on Jason’s face that Dick isn’t used to, but if he had to guess, he might say it’s fear. “I should remember that.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if I find anything, maybe that will jog your memory,” Dick says. How much does Jason not remember from before his death? He’d always assumed it was an intentional choice not to talk about it, Jason feeling like a different person now, but maybe there’s a real lack of memories there.

Dick goes back to pulling out clothes and Jason returns to his papers. It’s quiet in the room, only the noises of the two of them moving things around, and Dick feels restless. “Can I open the window?”

“You don’t have to ask,” Jason says sharply, and then sighs. “Yeah, go ahead.”

The rush of air that hits Dick’s face when he pushes the window up is cool. Dick takes a deep breath and feels instantly lighter. The room had been a little too lifeless without it, and that’s a metaphor that’s too on the nose for comfort. He goes back to the dresser, and pulls out the last pile of shirts.

The top one has words printed across it, and Dick shakes it out and holds it up in front of him. “Oh hey, you did have at least one,” he says, smiling. Greetings from Asbury Park, NJ is stretched across the front of the shirt

Jason asks, “One what?” but his lips twitch up in a slight smile when he looks over. It gets wider when he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do remember that shirt. Pretty sure it was a birthday present.”

“I’d forgotten you were a big Springsteen fan,” Dick says. He’s a little surprised he even remembers now, but he definitely does. When Dick had brought Jason up to New York for a weekend with the Titans, Jason’d insisted on being in charge of music in the car, since he couldn’t help drive. Dick had been amused enough that he didn’t bother pointing out that those weren’t exactly equivalent. They’d listened to at least two full CDs of Springsteen on that trip.

All Jason says is, “Yeah.”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Is there more of a story there?”

Jason shakes his head. “No. That shirt can go, I’m Damian won’t want it.”

“I don’t know, I bet I could convince him. Or, you know, you could wear it. I hear crop tops are in fashion now,” Dick says, keeping a straight face until Jason rolls his eyes and throws a pencil at him. He dodges easily, and Jason looks a little looser again, so Dick counts it as a win.

“Pass, thanks,” Jason says. “I could…” He hesitates. “I could get a new shirt, maybe.”

“Yeah?” Dick smiles. “So I guess you’re still a big Springsteen fan, then?”

Jason’s not quite meeting his eyes when he nods, and Dick thinks about him saying he hadn’t wanted to stick out at school, about the relative lack of personality in this room. How many things that Jason genuinely enjoys does he even know?

“In that case,” Dick decides. “ _I’ll_ buy you a new shirt. Do you want to replace this one, or do you want something different?”

Dick can’t decide if it’s endearing or a little heartbreaking how much Jason looks like a kid again when he looks up with surprise on his face. “I— You don’t have to—” Dick narrows his eyes at him. “Um. Yeah, okay. Sure, a replacement for this one would be good.”

“Got it,” Dick actually pulls out his phone and makes a note. It’s not like he thinks he’ll forget, but it feels important to signal that he really means this. Jason barely accepts actual help from them most of the time, much less gifts. Dick doesn’t want to miss the opportunity.

“You know,” Jason says, and when Dick looks up from his phone— _buy jason greetings t shirt!!!_ reads his note—Jason’s got a much more familiar smirk on his face. “There’s practically a whole Springsteen song written for me.”

“Oh really?” It’s not like Dick is super familiar with Bruce Springsteen, but he’ll listen to anything, so he might know the song. He also has a feeling it won’t matter for whatever joke Jason is trying to tell.

“Yeah. You know, ‘everything dies, that’s a fact, but maybe everything that dies someday comes back’,” quotes Jason. The smirk spreads wider when Dick narrows his eyes and grumbles.

“I just think it’s unfair,” Dick starts. “Because if _I_ made that joke, you’d act all offended.”

Jason shrugs. “Death privileges. There’s gotta be something.”

Shaking his head, Dick says, “If you say so.” He stands up. “I’m going to go see if Alfred’s got a box I can toss all these clothes in.”

“Sounds good. And… thanks.” Jason actually is looking at him this time, so Dick gets to see as his smirk slips into something smaller and more genuine.

“Anytime, Jay.”

\-----

“Hey, Hood, you here?”

Jason stares at the ceiling. Just one night. One single quiet night. Was that so much to ask?

Steph’s head peers through the doorway. “Oh, there you are.”

“What do you want?” Jason growls.

“I just need somewhere to crash for a while. I’ll be out of your hair in an hour tops.” Steph has her hands up in front of her, as if to ward off Jason’s bad mood. He almost wishes it would work.

Sighing, Jason props himself up on one elbow. “Why?”

Steph’s mouth goes tight, and she doesn’t quite look at him. “I need to clean up after patrol before I go home, and I didn’t want to go back to the Cave tonight.”

Jason snorts. “What’d B do this time?”

“What didn’t he do?” she mutters, and then backs out of the doorway. Jason can hear her moving around the living room. He flops back on the bed and stares at the ceiling for a little longer before signing again and getting up.

“Do you want some food?” he asks, heading for the kitchen. Jason’s pretty used to eating a meal post-patrol, so even though he didn’t go out tonight, his stomach is growling at him, and Steph’s probably no better.

She nods as she pulls off her cowl and detaches the cape. Jason considers telling her off for changing so obviously in his living room, but it’s not like he he doesn’t do it all the time. Besides, he’s not the responsible one, and Jason and Babs have worked pretty thoroughly to make sure no one can see in his windows even if they tried. It makes Jason a little twitchy if he thinks about it too long, because it feels pretty damn permanent, but it’s useful nonetheless.

“Where do you keep first aid stuff?” Steph asks. She’s frowning down at her side, but she’s still got her suit on and Jason can’t see anything obviously wrong.

“Bathroom,” he says, jerking his hand in the direction of the door to the bathroom. “Under the sink. Need any help?”

“Nah,” she dismisses. “Nothing that bad.”

Jason shrugs, and turns to the refrigerator.

By the time Steph comes back out, Jason has started sauteing vegetables and boiling water for pasta.

“Oh shit,” she says, sounding amused. “I didn’t know you meant _real_ food.”

“If I’d meant a snack, I’d have said that. I said food,” Jason points out.

Steph hops up on one of the counters. “Hey, that’s more than okay with me.”

“Good,” he says. Jason’s a little lost for what to say to her, but she seems content to just sit and lean back against the cabinets, so he ignores her and focuses on cooking.

In the absence of conversation, the music playing from Jason’s phone fills the quiet, over the steady bubble of the water and the noises of the oil. It’s pretty nice. Jason prefers background noise to silence—he thinks it comes from growing up in the city.

The song changes, and Steph peers over at his phone on the counter, poking at the screen. “Didn’t peg you as the flag waving type,” she says.

“Huh?” Jason says, not sure where that came from.

Steph flashes the phone at him, and says, “Bruce Springsteen? Really? I just thought you wouldn’t be big on patriotism. I guess it fits with the whole leather jacket macho dude thing, though.”

Tightness creeps back into Jason’s shoulders. “First of all, it’s not— Born in the USA is— nevermind.” His bad mood is quickly returning. Is it so hard to just goddamn leave people alone in their own apartment?

“Do you like fixing cars too?” Steph says, and it’s joking, he can hear the tease in her voice, but Jason isn’t in the mood.

“No.” He grabs his phone back from her, and pauses the music.

Steph frowns at him. “You didn’t need to stop it, dude, I wasn’t complaining. Listen to your dad rock if it makes you happy.”

Jason closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s overreacting and he knows it. It’s just… sometimes it feels like people don’t even try. Here Steph is, in his apartment full of used books and comfortable furniture, while Jason cooks food and listens to music, and she’s still only seeing him as some big tough guy. Jason wishes sometimes that he could go back to being fifteen and scrawny and looking like a bit of a nerd. Well, he wishes he could go back to being fifteen for a lot of reasons. 

Taking another deep breath, Jason unlocks his phone and holds it out to her. “Don’t worry about it. Just means you have to pick the music now.”

“You sure?” she asks, and when Jason looks at her, there’s concern in her eyes, and it helps him relax.

“Yeah. Go for it. I can’t get back at you about your music choices until I know them,” he says, and Jason can’t quite smile yet tonight, but he’ll get there.

Steph takes his phone back, and starts typing something in. “Excuse you, my music choices are flawless.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.”

\-----

Alfred has seen many things while working at Wayne Manor. Many, many things, including some that he wishes he hadn’t. Still, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Jason come to the Manor and explicitly ask to see Bruce. Bruce isn’t home from Wayne Enterprises yet, which he tells Jason, who nods and sits at the kitchen table. He looks a bit shaky, and Alfred immediately changes course to start making cookies. If Jason is here to have a talk, then they might all need the comfort of sugary dessert afterward.

“Is there a particular reason you chose today to speak with Master Bruce?” he asks, his back to Jason. Jason had always been better at talking when he didn’t feel he was being inspected.

“Nah. Just seemed like something I should do eventually.” Jason’s tone is relatively calm. Alfred almost misses when he was younger—he’d never been good at keeping his emotions hidden then. Or maybe Alfred had just been more familiar with how they looked on his smaller frame. Not for the first time, Alfred mourns the loss of seeing Jason grow up.

“Well, in that case, I’m glad you came,” is all he says. It wouldn’t do to tell Jason too much. Jason, after all, doesn’t like to hear emotional speeches, and he can’t risk scaring him off before Bruce gets back. It certainly has nothing to do with the lump in Alfred’s throat when he thinks about saying any of this to him.

“Do you need help with anything?” Jason asks.

Turning around, Alfred frowns in the direction of the pantry, trying to remember what he’d planned to make for dinner tonight. “I believe I had planned on making lasagna tonight. If you would like to stay and help with that, or at least begin the process before you have your talk, then I would welcome the assistance.”

Jason shrugs out of his jacket and places it carefully on the back of the chair he’d sat on. “I’d love to.”

“Well then, Master Jason, the lasagna recipe is in that book,” and Alfred points to the small bookshelf in the corner.

“I know how to make lasagna, Alfred,” Jason says, mock-outraged. “Who do you think I am, Tim?”

Alfred represses a smile. “Be that as it may, I cannot guarantee that we have all the ingredients for your lasagna. We do, however, have exactly the ingredients found in that recipe.”

Jason shakes his head. “I _guess_ that’s a good reason to follow a recipe,” he says, already grabbing the cookbook off the shelf and paging through it.

The work goes quickly. Alfred finishes up the cookie dough and sticks it into the refrigerator to chill. By that point, Jason’s got the sauce for the lasagna cooking, and Alfred gets out the rest of the ingredients. Jason had asked if he’d be okay with music playing. Alfred is immune to bad music after living through Bruce’s high school years, so Jason’s phone is now playing quietly on the counter. Luckily, it’s not even particularly objectionable.

While they’re in the middle of layering the lasagna into pans, Bruce walks in. “Alfred? Are you— Oh.” Alfred isn’t even looking at the doorway Bruce has obviously just walked through, and yet he’s certain he knows exactly what expression is on his face.

“Hello, Master Bruce. Master Jason is helping me with dinner. If you’d like to help as well, you may, or you can wait until we have the lasagna in the oven. I believe Master Jason wished to speak with you.”

“Hi, Jason,” Bruce says quietly, and sits down next to the chair with Jason’s jacket hanging on it.

“Hey,” Jason says, not looking at him. “Alfred, why did you even offer to let him help? I want edible dinner.”

Bruce protests, “I’m not that bad!” but Alfred knows it’s merely to keep up appearances. He can see the smile that flashes across Bruce’s face, and he can feel it himself. Jason is planning to stay for dinner, even after they have their talk.

“I will offer no opinion on the matter, Master Jason. I simply believe in giving everyone the chance to help.” They finish the last layer of cheese, and Alfred puts the lasagna pans into the oven. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Alfred,” Jason says and Alfred wonders if he truly could hold him to that.

Alfred looks between them, at the way Jason and Bruce are staring at each other. Waiting for the other to make the first move, perhaps, or simply gathering their words. “Shall I leave?” he asks.

Bruce frowns, but says nothing. Jason shakes his head. “Only if you want to.”

“Very well,” Alfred says, wiping his hands off and looking at the dishes they’d used. “I’ll stay if you don’t mind my making some noise cleaning up.”

“Do you want help with that?” Bruce asks. “I can’t mess dishes up.”

“Never say never, Master Bruce,” Alfred answers. It’s a tie as to whether Bruce’s wounded expression or Jason’s delighted laugh is the better response. He’d rather have his hands busy and the excuse to look away if they’re really to have a conversation.

The music is still playing, which is exceedingly obvious when no one speaks for a long moment. _I heard the wind rustling through the trees_ , a rough voice sings quietly.

Finally, Bruce speaks up. “What did you want to talk about?”

Alfred can hear Jason sit down heavily. “I… um… I think we don’t. Um.” There’s quiet for another moment, and then Jason bursts out with, “Why is this so _hard_?”

“What’s hard? Is something wrong?” Bruce is clearly trying to stay calm, but Alfred is more than familiar with this tone.

“No, nothing’s fucking wrong,” Jason snaps. “That’s…” He takes a deep breath. “I guess that’s kind of what I wanted to talk about. I don’t remember the last time I talked to you about anything that wasn’t… work. Or an emergency. And uh, I’ve still got a lot of issues with… well, a lot of things you’ve done, and I know you’re still mad at me, but I think I’m only making it worse by not talking to you the rest of the time.”

Alfred realizes abruptly that he’s just holding a soap-covered bowl, completely frozen in place. He doesn’t think he can move, even if he was willing to risk the delicate atmosphere in the kitchen right now.

Bruce takes a very deep breath. “Jason, I’m not… I’m not mad at you.”

“Aren’t you?” Jason challenges. “You sure do a good impression of it.”

“I— I’m not denying that I have been mad at you. Frequently. But that doesn’t mean I’m _always_ mad at you. I think you’re right. I’ve also made this worse. I thought… I believed that you didn’t want to talk to me unless you had to, so I thought I was respecting your wishes.”

Jason sighs. “I… I mean, yeah, I usually would have said I didn’t want to see you, but that’s mostly because every time I’ve seen you in the last _lifetime_ , we’ve ended up yelling at each other.” Alfred feels something in his chest clench when Jason says the word lifetime. There’s a particular kind of pain to being reminded what exactly Jason has had to go through. He’s so young still.

“Jason, I would be grateful to see you more often,” Bruce says quietly. “But I need to know if it would be welcome. I… am aware that I need things spelled out for me sometimes. Maybe it would help for you, too. You’re my son and I worry about you.”

“You… worry about me?” Jason repeats.

Bruce’s voice is stronger now. “Of course I worry about you. I worry about all of you, constantly.”

Alfred turns around. “If I may interject, quickly, I believe many of Master Bruce’s… sometimes overbearing actions are primarily motivated by concern over the wellbeing of you and your siblings. I don’t expect that to make you any happier about them, but I assure you, he is telling the complete truth. It’s possibly even an understatement.” Both of them are looking at him, Bruce with an expression of such open gratitude that Alfred wonders if he’s somehow regressed to being a much younger man again, and Jason caught between disbelief and surprise.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce says. “And, in case it’s not clear, Alfred, I know you worry too.”

Alfred regrets turning around just then. He doesn’t like to let himself cry in front of any of the boys, and he can feel the hint of tears pricking at his eyes. All he says is, “Very true,” before turning back to wash the dishes.

“Bruce,” Jason says. It’s hard to tell his tone, but Alfred wonders if that’s perhaps because Jason himself doesn’t know. “I— I guess I knew that. But… it feels good to hear it. Maybe I do need things spelled out for me, sometimes, too.”

“Then I’ll try to be better about it,” Bruce says. “I can’t guarantee it will go well, but you can always come talk to me like this. I’ll… try my best.”

“Guess that’s all I can ask for,” Jason answers. He sounds pleased, even if the words are flat.

Alfred takes a deep, quiet breath and lets it out again. It seems that this will be the rare discussion in this house that doesn’t end in raised voices. Of course, Alfred is so certain that this will be the end of the talk that he almost drops the pot he’s moving to the sink when Jason says, “And uh… you’re still my dad, and I love you.”

There’s a small, choked noise. Alfred assumes it’s from Bruce, but he can’t make it out exactly. It’s possible that partly, that’s because of his own reaction to hearing Jason say that so clearly. “Thank you, Jason,” Bruce nearly whispers.

“Yeah,” Jason mutters. “So, uh.” Alfred glances back over his shoulder and sees Jason looking around the kitchen rather wildly. “Um. Who’s going to be here for dinner?”

Alfred answers automatically. “You two, Master Damian, and I believe Miss Stephanie was coming by this evening.”

Bruce adds, “Duke and Cassandra will be coming as well. They just got back from a mission with the Outsiders.”

“Good thing we made two pans of lasagna, then,” Jason says.

Alfred shakes his head. “Oh, I’ve learned my lesson, Master Jason. I always make twice as much food as I expect to need now.”

There’s a scraping sound of Jason pushing his chair back from the table. “In that case, I’ll definitely make sure to come over and help you more often. Don’t want you getting overworked,” he says lightly, coming to stand next to Alfred. “Want me to dry?”

“That would be most appreciated,” Alfred says, and when he puts down the pot in the dish rack, Jason steps up and wraps him in a quick hug. It’s over too quickly for Alfred to do anything besides be surprised.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Jason says. He picks up a dish towel and starts drying the pot. When Alfred looks back at Bruce, Bruce is smiling wider than Alfred has seen in a long time.

Alfred clears his throat. “Well. You did say that you’d help me ‘anytime,’ Master Jason. I’ll just have to hold you to that, if this is the kind of reaction we can expect.”

Jason actually laughs. “I’ll do my best,” he promises, and when Jason goes back to drying dishes, he’s actually humming along to the music still playing in the background. The song seems to have changed, something more upbeat now, and Alfred takes a moment to appreciate everything that had to happen for this to be real. The years when Jason had been— _gone_ seem so far away just now, and Alfred can only hope that it stays that way.

“As you said, Master Jason, that’s all we can ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> in case you wondered, here is the vague playlist i had in mind for this fic:  
> 1) Wrecking Ball (the title song from the album that came out while Jason was dead)  
> 2) Dancing in the Dark (the song Jason remembers listening to as a kid)  
> 3) Born to Run (the song Jason is humming over the comms)  
> 4) The River from the Live 1975-1985 box set (the video that Babs sends Jason)  
> 5) Growin' Up (i'm counting this as the soundtrack for the scene with Dick, since it's from Greetings from Asbury Park, NJ)  
> 6) Cadillac Ranch (standing in for the music that Dick remembers Jason playing on their road trip)  
> 7) Magic (the first song playing in the scene with Steph before she bothers looking at what music is playing)  
> 8) My Hometown (the second song playing in the scene with Steph, when she does look at the phone and only sees the giant American flag rather than listening to the song)  
> 9) Born in the USA from Tracks (honorable mention here for Jason's "First of all, it’s not— Born in the USA is—" comment)  
> 10) My Father's House (the song playing while Jason and Bruce start having their conversation which is incredibly, overly on the nose)  
> 11) Long Walk Home (what's playing at the end of that scene, because hilariously enough, Bruce Springsteen doesn't actually have any happy songs about his dad, so i had to make do)  
> 12) Better Days (the title)
> 
> feel free to let me know if you find a typo, or any egregious american-isms in the alfred section! also, come talk to me in the comments about jason slowly finding his way back to his family, feelings about bruce springsteen, or anything else :D


End file.
